


Shirt Tales

by mcgarrygirl78



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-06
Updated: 2006-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-31 10:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15117872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarrygirl78/pseuds/mcgarrygirl78
Summary: Right now I don't know which is sexier, the shirt or the skin underneath.





	Shirt Tales

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

She spends most of Sunday playing in the backyard with the kids. It is a glorious day, mid 70s with a lot of sunshine. I watch from the study, where I am working on the Education package. They do cartwheels, play catch, sing and dance, and play on the swing set. She is dressed in full mommy gear, denim shorts and a University of Chicago Law tee shirt. Its ratty, she likes to wear it when housecleaning or tending to the children. It has all kinds of food stains, sick stains, sweat stains, but it still looks good on her…the hole in the bottom has not removed an ounce of its allure. Later that night she didn’t wear anything to bed but as we made love, I can’t help but think of her in that tee shirt.

I made sure to be home early on Monday, I promised to make family time with the children. She is in the shower when I arrive so I sit and talk to the kids about their day. She walks into the den and I lose my breath. I love her in that Santos-McGarry tee shirt and gray lounge pants. She scoops our daughter into her arms and their combined laughter makes me smile. The kiss she gives me is soft, and she caresses my face…I feel her touch for hours afterward. All through dinner and cartoons with Tim and Charlie. Then the children are in bed and we cuddle on the couch. She lets my hands roam under the shirt. Her breasts are bare; skin feels so good. I tell her what the tee shirt does to me, more laughter that makes me fall in love with her all over again.

I stop by her office for a late afternoon lunch on Tuesday. She is bicycling to Belgium while drinking a double chocolate milkshake, a real dichotomy but that’s my baby. She climbs down from the bike, stretching her limbs. Today she is wearing the Bruce Springsteen Born in the USA tee shirt. She smiles when she sees that I brought her a sandwich from Krupin’s. We sit together and talk about nothing…no heavy stuff and no worries. We talk about the book she’s reading, my appointment to have clothes tailored, what we want to do for Charlie’s 4th birthday. I keep the fact that I have to leave on Monday to myself; don’t want to ruin our time. Telling her will come soon enough.

Wednesday night she waits up for me, dressed in my apricot dress shirt and nothing else. As tired as I am, it makes me smile. I smile even more when I see the massage oil on the nightstand. She calls me over to the bed with a long, manicured finger and I can't come fast enough. I try to take off my clothes but she shakes her head…that is for her. The suit jacket, tie, shirt, slacks, boxers. Her body weighs nothing on top of mine and her hands are soft and warm on my skin. I turn over; see that most of the buttons on the shirt are undone. Right now I don’t know which is sexier, the shirt or the skin underneath. When we make love, I don’t let her take it off.

Thursday she treats her staff to a night out at the Nats game. Skybox seats with all the amenities. I find her dressing in the bathroom…blue jeans and one of my button down shirts. It’s a new look; one I like immediately. I don’t want to keep my hands off her but she is thwarting my every attempt; she has to go and doesn’t want to be late. I manage to catch her for a few kisses and a pinch but she will have none of it. I am left wanting. I definitely wish we had more time for each other.

On Friday, Donna takes the kids for the night so CJ can have a break. She gives Mitch a long weekend and decides to make me cupcakes. I find her in the kitchen, blue sweatpants and the University of Pennsylvania tee shirt I've been looking all over for. The room is smoky, the Secret Service there and gone. Of the two dozen cupcakes, eight survive. I pop a Lean Cuisine in the microwave and help her clean up. I don’t know if the shirt can be salvaged, covered in flour, batter, and frosting, but she looks so cute all dirty from doing something sweet for me. She lifts it over her head, throws it in the laundry room, and decides to walk around in a blue bra instead. I get dinner with an amazing view.

She suffers a terrible headache on Saturday, spends most of the afternoon in various states of rest. I lie on the bed and let her head rest in my lap. My fingers run through her hair and she lets go of a sigh of satisfaction before going back to sleep. She is wearing my plain white Hanes tee shirt and a pair of bikini underwear…has no plans to wear anything else today. I watch her body relax as she sleeps, hand resting on my thigh. She’s absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. When awake she makes my heart skip a beat. I don’t tell her that anymore because since the heart attack those kinds of sayings don't go over too well. Asleep, at peace with me and the world, she is even lovelier. She is not slaying the dragons, fighting the demons (both mine and hers), being wife of the year and mother of the decade. She is not posing for photos, sitting for interviews, or enduring the wrath and lies of the fickle American press. She is just a woman who is loved, finding comfort in her favorite man’s shirt. It is when I love her most…the moments in between, when the cameras go off, and the people go home, and all that separates her skin from mine is my tee shirt.


End file.
